A dangerous combination of fear and ire swept through her, darkening her vision. She yanked her arm free. “You have no right to touch me.”
That face she once found pleasant twisted into a snarl. “I may be your only chance at marriage. You should watch yourself.”
Her cold laugh did not ease her fury. “Why would I want to marry you?”
“You did once.”
“That was before.”
His blond eyebrow arched. “Before? Before you gave yourself to Lord Markham? You snubbed my desire easily.”
The bloody bastard. What did he know of her heart? Of the foolish choices she made in her life? Lizzie lifted her hand to slap him but he caught her arm.
“Now, listen here,” his voice was dangerously calm. “Because of your lover’s cowardliness, he has granted me your father’s living. I am now the rector here.”
Lizzie gasped. Edmund was taking her father’s place?
“Ah,” his lips curled. “Now you see. I have enough funds to move into a larger house. Even though you’ve been soiled, I’m willing to overlook it and take you as my wife.”
“Pardon?” She broke from him again, taking a few steps away, disturbing a white butterfly flitting among the flower garden. “But why do you still want me as your wife?”
His smirk made her skin crawl. “I have my reasons. So what do you say, Lizzie? Just as we planned before your father sent you away?”
But that was before. Before another world was opened up to her. And not just the pretty dresses and fancy dinners. She yearned for the mystery of the London Tower, the splendor of the theater. She longed to see the rest of England, journey to other parts of the world.
Lizzie turned to caress a pink rosebud on the verge of blossoming, its soft petals reminding her of the feel of Markham’s flesh. That was before she lost her heart, her desires, to Markham. She didn’t want to marry Edmund. She didn’t want to marry Lord Alcott. Markham was the only man would could fill her up inside.
A low rumble sounded in the distance. Lizzie glanced up at the approaching rain clouds. They seemed to bring her doom. Even the increasing winds could not cool the oppressive warning in her veins.
“Lizzie, must I say it plainly? Your father no longer has an income.”
“No.” Her throat closed in, panic clouding her vision. “I will not marry you.”
Edmund continued, coming ever closer to her, invading her sanctuary with his evil purpose. “Lizzie.”
Thunder echoed in the field behind them. “Go away.”
Edmund stood beside her now. The tree overhead swayed in the storm’s encroaching wind, bending low to sweep his hair. His gray eyes sharpened on her. “You have no money, you have no other prospect for marriage. I am offering you a way to save yourself and help your father.”
Her lungs squeezed with the heavy truth of his words. She had little skill to offer for payment. She had no hope of finding a man to accept her as his wife. She had no friends to provide her shelter. She had nothing but painful memories and broken dreams.
Checked tears seared her throat. She’d neglected her sister, who had to pay the ultimate price. She nearly failed her father. She could provide for herself on a governess’s income, but not have enough to look after her father too. It was her duty to care for Papa, even if it meant her life was no longer her own.
Edmund’s hand brushed her cheek, but this time she withheld her flinch at his touch. “Tell me, Lizzie, what choice do you have?”
Markham shifted his hips. Even in his sleep the sight of this woman could arouse him. In the cloying heat of the hothouse, he saw her standing amongst the roses. Her long red hair curled in wet clumps down the front of her soaked dress.
Lizzie smiled at him, her green eyes beckoning him to join her beside the rose bushes. Markham stepped closer, inhaled their sweet fragrance. She moistened her lips with that succulent tongue, stiffening him further.
Lord how he loved this dream. Each and every time his fantasy grew stronger. Each time he got closer and closer to finding relief again.
He stood before her now, trembling in her presence. Lizzie’s fingers reached for him, but he refused to move as she caressed his solid, aching flesh. Biting his lip, he watched her from above.
Those tiny fairy hands worked magic on him until he felt himself pulsate with a false release. No. He wanted it real. He wanted to sink himself inside her. Just as he had done before she left.
Markham tilted her chin to look up at him. This time he didn’t recoil at the love in her grass green eyes. How he missed it. Would he ever see it again? Did he deserve it?
The urgency at his groin grew and he took hold of her mouth. She tasted of the hothouse roses and the cottage hyacinths. Her tongue moved fiercely and demanding.
He couldn’t wait anymore.
Tearing at her clothes, Markham stripped the wet garments from her body. He kissed his way down each freckle as his own clothes fell away. Her skin, so soft and supple under his lips, grew warmer and warmer until she was nearly afire.
His erection throbbed. He must be inside her.
Then the dream took them to his study. He sat on his leather chair and Lizzie stood, naked, between his legs. His gaze raked over her peach-colored nipples, her creamy skin, her young, fairy-like body. Any moment he expected wings to sprout from her back.
Instead he rasped, “Climb on top.”
She grinned in reply and obliged.
Ah. And there it was—that divine warm dampness enveloping him completely. He feared he might never feel it again. Not like this soul-shattering intensity that only his fairy could give him.
Lizzie rode him hard and fast. His desperate need for release could not last longer than a few minutes. He jerked his hips, driving himself deeper inside her, wanting to lose himself inside her body forever.
If only he could live forever inside his dreams.
But the tingling at his spine forced reality on him. Dream or not, relief would find its way from his body.
Markham grabbed on to Lizzie’s damp hair and yanked her face to his again. But the groan tore from his mouth before he could capture her lips again. Shuddering and jerking his hips, weeks of restrained frustration pushed free.
Blessed slumber receded until full consciousness brought him completely awake.
Drops of daylight sprinkled across his bed from cracks in the curtains. Markham stretched, but his blood still hummed from the release. He could even now smell the rose scent of Lizzie’s hair. He could still taste the feminine delicacy of her skin.
“Markham?” A knock on the door. “Are you awake yet?”
Markham yanked the blankets up to his chest. “Come in, Alcott.”
His stepbrother stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Still in bed at this hour?” He went over to the draperies and yanked them open. Sunlight burst into the room.
Markham squinted his eyes, yawning. “What time is it?”
“Late enough you should have been awake by now.”
“I was in the midst of a dream.” A fantasy was more like it. “Have you something urgent to discuss?”
Alcott sank into an overstuffed gold chair. “For nearly a week now you’ve done nothing but sulk.”
“Sulk? I do no such thing.”
“Oh? You’ve slept late every day, you’ve rarely left the house and often don’t join us for dinner. I imagine you’ve not seen much of Lucas either.”
Markham laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the canopy. “I deserve a rest every now and then.”
“So it has nothing to do with Miss Parker leaving?”
Of course not. He was fine without her. Besides, she was often infuriating, exasperating, and stubborn. Why would he sulk over her leaving?
“No.” Markham said, watching dust sparkle through the air. “She had to return to see her ill father.”
“And you couldn’t go with her? I thought you two were betrothed.”
His jaw worked. “We aren’t an
y longer.”
Alcott sighed. “And you aren’t going to go after her?”
Why should he go after her? Markham didn’t love her. He couldn’t allow himself to love. He couldn’t allow himself to feel. He had felt enough pain. And now the guilt at causing Lizzie’s anguish slashed through his gut, eating him alive. Why should he go after her? She was better off without him.
Markham changed the subject. “What’s this really about, Alcott? You still cross that she left you, as well?”
His brother snorted. “I was piqued at first, but I’ve come to realize it’s all for the best. She would have never loved me.”
Markham raised himself up on an elbow. A draft whispered across his skin. He remembered the way Lizzie’s gaze caressed his body, the way they deepened with love for him. His chest tightened. “Have you come to rub salt in my wound?”
An eyebrow quirked. “You’re wounded? But no, I’ve not come for that. I’ve come to offer my thanks and appreciation.”
“Pardon?”
“Your father’s generosity has never been repaid. My mother and I could have never had such a life if it had not been for your father.”
Markham swallowed, his throat constricted. It was true and yet he’d never seen it that way. He’d always been resentful of Alcott and his mother, hated them for intruding in their lives and stealing his father’s attention. Plus, his father always expected so much more from his first son, making Alcott seem like the favored, lucky child.
“I suppose,” his brother sighed, “after seeing Miss Parker’s convictions, her love and appreciation for all peoples, it made me realize how lucky I have been.” He stood. “So I am offering my gratitude now. I shall be forever in your debt.”
Markham pressed his lips together, unable to respond. Had Lizzie really affected so many of them?
“You know,” Alcott continued. “Lucas really wants to see you. May I send him in?”
Yes, it was time he got himself moving again. He could not hide away forever. It was not fear of Lucinda’s potential accusations that kept him here, but the unwillingness to see the dullness of the city. Lately, everything around him had become a shade of gray. All color had vanished.
Markham nodded. While his brother left, he quickly pulled on some clothes and waited for his son by the window.
Instead of Lucas, the dowager stood in his doorway. Markham looked at her curiously. She’d never sought him out like this before.
“My son said I should come and speak to you now.”
“Oh?” He was more surprised now than before. Alcott had sent her up?
“I’ve been wanting to say something since Miss Parker left, but you…well, you were not in the right mind to receive it, I believe.”
Markham swallowed, then pointed to a chair. “Would you care to sit?”
“No.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll be brief. My cousin and I were poor chaperones these last few months for Miss Parker. I’d like to say it was accidental but it wasn’t.”
While their behavior pained him at the start, eventually he was thankful for their carelessness. “Are you saying the two of you were less than observant on purpose?”
She nodded. “The Reverend Parker spoke to me before we brought his daughter to London. He explained that he had an agreement with your father going far back on the union of you two. Who was I to challenge it?”
“He asked you to look the other way?”
The dowager stiffened. “Not in those words. He just asked that I help in whatever way I could to bring the two of you together. I made certain someone was with Miss Parker when necessary but we didn’t want to stand in the way of your courtship.”
Markham slashed a hand through his hair. Manipulated again. This time by two older women. Yet, he’d not regretted a moment of their lapses.
“At any rate,” she continued, “Miss Parker is gone now so our efforts were in vain.”
“So they were.” He sighed. So they were.
“I’ve said my piece. Now I shall send for Lucas.”
Markham nodded, his thoughts awash with the lies, motives, and deception of the last few months. Now, it had all finally unraveled.
Like a blast of energy, Lucas raced into the room. He came to an abrupt halt by the foot of the bed. It was as if the exuberant boy had been replaced by an unemotional man. Devil take it, his son was already learning how to imitate him.
Markham cleared his throat, shifting his focus from his recent talk of Miss Parker. “So, young master, how have you enjoyed London?”
Huge dark eyes blinked up at him. “I want to go back to the Palace.” The last word hissed through his missing tooth.
“Ah, I can imagine. It was a wondrous place.”
“And…” He stared down at his shoes.
“Go on.”
“And I want to see my-my friend again. Albert.”
“Ah.” What did a young boy understand of society’s circles? Just as a peer could not marry a commoner, a peer’s son could not play with a working boy from the Docks. It wasn’t done. There was etiquette and—
“He said he’d have a present for me.” Lucas traced his finger along the bedpost spindles. “To exchange for the elephant I gave him.”
What did such a young boy know of rules and standards?
His son’s mouth drooped into a pout. “And-and I want to see Miss Parker again. I miss her.”
So she’d enchanted all of them with her spirited ways and vibrant heart. With her gone, Markham’s life had dulled into bland emptiness. The world outside his window shifted in shadows of light and dark.
Markham had broken free of his chains and given himself the liberty to go for whatever he desired. No restrictive father watched his every move, no clergyman determined his future, no ex-lover threatened his reputation.
He was alone in this world now.
He pulled Lucas into an embrace, holding the boy close for perhaps the first time. He could smell this sweet mixture of chalk and honey forever. It was the scent of his son, Emily’s son. She had left him with a gift. One that took him far too long to appreciate.
No, Markham wasn’t alone in this world. He had his wise son to guide him. And his son believed in fairies.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Leaning against the ancient stone fence, Lizzie’s gaze followed a bee as it darted from tombstone to tombstone, searching for a ripening flower.
She sighed and turned from the cemetery, instead watching a squirrel race up the old oak tree. If only her life were as simple as gathering nuts and building a nest of leaves.
Edmund wanted to announce their marriage at the church service in three days. She had held off on answering him as long as possible, hoping for something. Some saving grace. But no miracle, nor knight in shining armor had come to rescue her.
Lizzie drew in a deep breath, the succulent aroma of wild honeysuckle giving her the bit of courage she sought. She would send Markham a letter. After what she’d just learned, it was the honest thing to do.
She hadn’t wanted to take the two day journey northward, but her father’s instance drove her. Guilt hung over him like a perpetual rain cloud. Even though he regained a limited use of speech, he continued to blame his illness on God punishing him for his deception.
Nothing seemed to sway him from his constant berating of himself. When she mentioned marrying Edmund, her father grew so angry she feared another apoplexy. And so she made him a promise she could not keep.
She started for the gig but noticed a woman on the other side of the road carrying an infant. The baby’s blonde curls peeked out from under the bright bonnet.
Suddenly thoughts of Annabel rushed over her, stole her breath. She had left them. Elizabeth and the Long children did not even know she was gone. In her anguish over losing Markham and her dreams, she never had the chance to send word of her departure.
Sarah had doubts that she would return for them. And she had been right. The reason didn’t matter. Lizzie had let them down.
But her willpower was not strong enough to resist a glance at the Blackhawk Manor. As she descended a hill, it stood at top the next one, resplendent in all its glory. Large, majestic, and handsome, it represented its owner in the finest detail. The magnificent house truly was suited to an earl.
Her chest tightened but she forced away the taste of tears. She’d cried enough over Markham. First, as a girl those years ago. And now in the past few weeks when she believed in him.
Look where her hope and trust had got her.
Back to the very place she claimed she wanted to be. Engaged to the very man she claimed she wanted to marry. She had gotten just as she had asked.
But now everything had changed.
Lizzie pulled her gaze from what was left of her view of Blackhawk Manor and guided the horse to the rear stall. She gathered her things and followed the chickens to the front of the house.
She found her father sitting on the front step, petting the tabby kitten given to him by a parishioner during her stay in London.
He smiled, lopsided due to the paralysis on the left side of his body. Somehow he’d improved enough to move around, though he still relied on a cane more than ever and his left foot dragged behind.
“Zee.” It was all he could say of her name.
Lizzie gave him a swift kiss on the cheek and his stubble tickled her lips.
He patted a spot next to him with his good hand.
She sat and followed him in stroking the cat. Then, “I found her, Papa.”
His pained brown eyes widened. “Still there?”
Lizzie nodded. “She is old and frail, just moved back to the village to live with her granddaughter. But she remembered.”
He visibly crumbled before her. It must be from relief. Now the truth would be out, his guilt would lift. His atonement would pave the way for God’s forgiveness.
“I’ll send Lord Markham a letter and let him know.”
A Tarnished Heart Page 25